XVII.

And worse and worse, the drowsy curse Yawned in him, till it grew a pest-- A wide contagious atmosphere, Creeping like cold through all things near; A power to infect and to infest.

His servant-maids and dogs grew dull; His kitten, late a sportive elf; The woods and lakes so beautiful, Of dim stupidity were full. All grew dull as Peter's self.

The earth under his feet--the springs, Which lived within it a quick life, The air, the winds of many wings, That fan it with new murmurings, Were dead to their harmonious strife.

The birds and beasts within the wood, The insects, and each creeping thing, Were now a silent multitude; Love's work was left unwrought--no brood Near Peter's house took wing.

And every neighbouring cottager Stupidly yawned upon the other: No jackass brayed; no little cur Cocked up his ears;--no man would stir To save a dying mother.

Yet all from that charmed district went But some half-idiot and half-knave, Who rather than pay any rent, Would live with marvellous content, Over his father's grave.

No bailiff dared within that space, For fear of the dull charm, to enter; A man would bear upon his face, For fifteen months in any case, The yawn of such a venture.